illynx,

They come, her family, and with each face that arrives through the pale blue corridor her heart rises, her soul grasps at elation, for she knows them all by their most private of names and how dearly she admires them each for their devotion to the righteous path. While her sister is not among them, something she takes notice of watching them filter inwards, she is patient; it is possible that the Empress waits just outside the confines of the meeting, guarding from outsiders and listening for dissent among those who had sought to rid her of their rule.

The Lady smiles.

Moon eyed and deranged, Zikar arrives with his usual weird effervescence, the familiar and admired frame of her Engineer the next to slip into the glacial cavern. She smiles at her lover, the not so secret father of her child that she allowed others to assume to be so from the obvious appearance of her son; he is, as she is concerned, the most flawless combination of the two unicorns that the Gods might have blessed her with, etched with gold in the ancient markings of his father, and she assumes none here are too stupid to figure such things out without a hand written notice.

The arrival of Zikar comes with an apology and a swift and somewhat sinister notice of the child, who looks to the stranger alongside his mother with a weak and slightly terrified smile as the deranged Disciple focuses all his attentions on him. Illynx wants to laugh as she glances down at her boy who quite meekly responds with a bleeting, ”H-h-h-ello…” and looks as if he’d like to magically reappear back inside her belly and disappear, though he does manage a slight bow of his head in greeting as the Lady lowers her lips to address her son more privately. ”He is known as Zikar-Sin, and is very intelligent. Eccentric,” she whispers into her son’s ear, hopefully quiet enough so that Zikar cannot hear her, ”but that is all; he is a good friend to have.”

At this, the boy swallows and grows a bit more brave, the echoes of his father’s snort of defense further bolstering his ability to not be terrified by the odd little man, who is now addressing his mother (much to his appreciation, to be sure). The Lady laughs and smiles, ever the flashy sort of woman she is, the sort of personality that gleams and purrs beneath the manners and nature of one such as Zikar-Sin. ”Thank you, darling,” she says sweetly with a faint giggle to her words, ”he is a great source of pride. We have called him Rikyn.”

Funny seeing all you here, says a white masked girl, to whom Illynx looks with wonder and excitement that hadn’t been met by the others, for the simple fact that Aviya had been lost since the darkness and, assumed, of course, dead or gone for the time. The vision of her face slipping into their dark fold once more sent another thrill of hope through the golden one, a passing wonder that the Lord of Storms had woven his thread of time to lead her here to them without even an invitation.

She is bloody, and scarred, surely a victim of much chaos during her adventures outside the safety of the Basin, but the Lady delivers her a curved and simpering grin that knows she has learned well to have earned these marks.

Her son looks at her as some dark harbinger of doom, more heinous even than the toned and dark frame of the Reaper as he arrives to the gathering, his golden eyes wide as he gazes upon the gore lacing her; like most small children, he clings to his mother’s side, staring out at the image of d’Artagnan’s bloody daughter and wondering why in Gods name his mother consorts with demons.

Still, she can’t be all that bad, he thinks to himself, for the dappled stallion with the red hair approaches her as if she’s covered in sweet smelling clover rather than entrails and violence, and Rikyn watches the procession with much curious wonder while his mother sees only two love struck and savage unicorns drawn, like magnets, to each others strength. There is little heed paid to their actions as far as she is concerned, but the boy… well, he’s purely fascinated with them, and the others, and the fact that Father is here.

He turns his golden eyes towards him as the bronze and black stallion is the first to speak, the Crux and her son both turning their attentions to the Engineer; their son hears what he says about the Sentinels and beams giddily alongside his dam while she hears the sharpness of what follows his proclamation of grandeur, and she frowns.

”There are reasons we are here,” she snaps, dark tail striking behind her in agitation as she glowers at the grumpy and sometimes too moody creationist, ”of which you’ll become privy soon enough.” As if that might call her from the outside in, Illynx glances up at the arch of the entry to their hidden meeting for the dark frame of her darling Psyche for a moment, returning her eyes to the Engineer as he continues to speak.

She nods and begins to laugh at his next commentary, cut short but the arrival of one of her Corporals who shuts down the slightly rude mentioning of the Time Mender and propositions a question into the air before apologizing that he has arrived late as a December apple. ”It’s what is implied yes,” she says, glancing at the Corporal from sharp golden eyes that say I don’t give a shit where you were, ”and he means no offense to the lovely Mender, for she is surely benevolent and kind and everything a true healer should be...but we are not needing her for the sake of wellness and she would be loathe to cooperate with such a task. I would not ask her; Ulrik is right.” She pauses, glancing over towards the Doctor and feeling thoughts cross her mind; perhaps, she thinks, but there are more options outside the icy confines of this room that she has at her disposal, each requiring a hard look before she decides. ”Give Deimos and I a few weeks to look over our options, and I will come to you once we have found you a suitable assistant.”

It seems no one else has much to interject besides her chosen stallion (and how ironic it is that she has chosen the most vocal of the men aside from grouchy d’Artagnan does not slide past her unnoticed), and so she looks around her once before continuing into the rest of the words that need to be said here. Some of them she remembers are still missing, perhaps lost forever or simply late or wandering and forgetful, but either way it is she cannot wait forever here and her kin cannot assume that they will remain unnoticed and among only peers for too very long. ”As Ulrik has made mention of, there are new tools at our disposal; the Basin is kept safer than ever before by the bronze sentinel and his brother will stand alongside him soon, and the Gods have blessed our Engineer with the ability to correct the blights of nature in so far as physical appearances are concerned,” she smiles, a wicked little thing, golden eyes flashing as she looks around her, ”in the prison at the Basin we have our first subject waiting, on outcast woman. In combination with electricity, I believe the new implementation will make her rather… subservient.” Her horn coats itself at the probing of her will in the blue light of her magic, the glow igniting features for a few seconds before the force is extinguished. ”On a similar note, of course, is the matter of selection, the recipients of our wrath; the days of killing at will are done, my friends,” the words are said with all seriousness as she looks to each in turn, explaining as she does so, ”target only outcasts, and only those of their number who have no friends to come asking questions as to their whereabouts; travel in utmost secrecy with your captives and kill only within the safety of the north and where no one might see or hear you aside from your brethren here. in this room. The Basin wears a mask, and I would deem it wise that each of you put it on here and now, as well.”

”An alliance of sorts has formed between the mountain and the Edge, for several reasons, but the most important to each of you is that it provides us a way to hide our past indiscretions and mistakes behind a guise of change. By no means are any of our new… friends to meet any unfortunate happenstances by your hooves or horn; those who decide to be idiots anyway will suffer whatever consequences that I see fit. No longer will our entire family suffer for the mistakes of one. No longer will any of us put our ultimate goal at risk for temporary and selfish satisfaction.” Another pause, another glance around her for the surely disgruntled faces she will be met with. ”Watch our enemies, keep note of their every movement, and smash the insects you find crawling out alone in the darkness, but our main work will be within the confines of the Basin itself and among ourselves.”

”Turn your attention to our kin. Look into their hearts and seek the embers of our purpose, fan them until they burn as brightly as our own desires to see Helovia ruled by perfect beings. Teach them to see as we do, guide them onto the correct path,” she looks down to her son, who is hanging on to her words with an expression that states he doesn’t really understand everything but that he desperately does not want to miss a moment of it all, and then looks back to the others, ”birth strong children and teach them who they are, what they are worthy of, if you do not feel you can be of use elsewhere. And, as always, train, ceaselessly honing the edge of your blades.”

”As is standard among us… this meeting never happened. Any who breathe a word of any they have seen or what they have heard while here will regret the day they were born; when you leave here, when you meet our brethren out in the world and wish to guide them home, be tactful and wise. If any one of you fail to keep our secrets I personally rip the tongue from your mouth and sew it to the ass of whoever you ran your mouth off to.” A long glance is cast down at her son, who looks up at her with ears splayed to either side of his head and eyes wide, the horror of the threat sinking in as he realized that she was not kidding in the slightest. If he wasn’t afraid of upsetting her he’d have quickly mumbled, my lips are sealed forever, but instead he only nods.

”But do not fret, my darlings, for there are still games at foot,” she smiles, her gleaming grin looking out over them all, ”a certain group known as the Regime has insulted our strength and brought harm to Arah and her daughters, took captive the General Torleik; the bitch that heads it all has been a deeper nuisance than even these blights. I want the one who leads them, Confutatis, and I would be deeply grateful if you, my brethren, would join me in the hunt.”

”She is a dark mare with a white face, the marking shaped like that of the top half of a skull; her bite is acidic,” her ear baring the proof waggles atop her head for an added highlight to her words, ”and she may be calling herself the Daughter of Warlords. I do not wish her dead.”

She grins, so devious, so sharp.

”I’d like to hear her screaming from the tallest height of the Steppe, all the way from wherever you find her.”

intending to burn - pretending to fight it
everyone learns faster on fire